Hector watched in horror, shuddering in the corner.
Screams and cries of death filled the entire bar as if the Grim Reaper wanted to share his kind of pleasure with the living. Blood was splattered everywhere—sprayed on the wall, pooled on the floor, and splashed onto him.
He watched as his men desperately struggled to survive.
One was frozen in place, another clawed the wall—that doesn't seem to budge frantically, and another went down to his knees and started begging. But none of them were spared. No matter what they tried to do, there was no other outcome than brutal death.
No chance for survival since Lucivar had already set his mind to kill them from the start.
It was supposed to be an ordinary night.
Preparations had been made ever since the attack on Leandra.
No scent.
No trace of power.
